


Who Society Says We Are

by The_Freedom_Roadblocks



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Hitman AU, Hitman!Grantaire, M/M, Modern AU, Violence, driver!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3065768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Freedom_Roadblocks/pseuds/The_Freedom_Roadblocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chauffeur for a mafia hitman/woman AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Society Says We Are

**Author's Note:**

> Transferred from my Tumblr.
> 
> Original prompt was:
> 
> 3\. Chauffeur for a mafia hitman/woman AU
> 
> Warnings for blood and violence… and just dubious content. It’s a contract killer AU so really.

Grantaire was many things: A boxer, a dancer, an artist and a hitman. Most people get into the contract killing business are retired from the police force or special agencies. But for Grantaire it had started in his late teens with underground boxing rings, street fighting and a morbid fascination with blood. School bored him, people confused him but Life and death was something he understood. The delicate nature of life fascinated him. If you hit someone hard enough and in the right spot you could knock them out… move a little to the right and they are dead.

Killing was something he was good at. The sweat, the adrenalin, red blood and the press of his rifle against his cheek. He often wished he could dip his fingers in blood he spilled, bubbling out of a hole in a chest, and paint with it. He dreamed about smearing blood over a canvas and building a city or a mountain range or an ocean in crimson streaks. Not many people understood these urges. Grantaire had no illusions he was a good man.

~

He slid into the back seat of the sedan idling outside a warehouse. As soon as he closed the door beside him the driver put the car into gear.

"I’m not going to reconsider," Grantaire told the driver.

"I didn’t say anything," said the driver.

"It was pre-emptive," Grantaire explained. "You always ask me to reconsider."

"I am an optimistic person," said the driver. He was a young man, beautiful. He had blond hair and hazel eyes - not the kind of person you’d expect to work as a chauffeur… or with organised crime for that matter. "There are better ways to deal with these people… better ways than killing. Where am I taking you?" the driver asked. Grantaire gave him the address. His target was a businessman, middle aged and a whistle blower. "I don’t care about better ways. I just do my job."

The driver sighed and lapsed into silence. Grantaire double checked his weapons case and the businessman’s file, making sure he hadn’t missed anything and that everything was in place. As he did this the driver was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in a way that had Grantaire fuming. He wanted to lean over and slice the driver’s slender neck open with the knife he had hidden up his sleeve.

"Can you stop that?" he said instead. "I have a highly stressful job and you’re being obnoxious."

The driver just laughed. “Obnoxious, me? Right! Well maybe it’s time to quit your high stress job while you’re ahead. In fact, I know a guy who could use a man with your skill set. I could put you in touch. The pay is still good and it doesn’t involve murder.”

"You know, I could get you fired for saying that kind of stuff," Grantaire threatened. After a pause he added. “Why do you care so much, anyway?"

The driver shrugged. “I don’t know, I suppose I’ve grown fond of you these last few months.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never understood how people work.”

"That makes two of us."

~

"Park behind the building—yes just here—thanks."

The driver pulled the car into the curb behind a crumbling apartment building. Grantaire had scouted the place out yesterday. There were no security cameras or electronic locks—it would be a piece of cake to get to the third floor, directly opposite the businessman’s office window. It will be obvious where he shot from, but he’ll leave no trace behind. As he slid out of the car he pulled on a pair of thin black gloves and wrapped a scarf over his face. The driver got out of the car behind him and retrieved his weapon’s case from the back seat.

"I can get that," Grantaire told him when he fumbled with it.

“I got it.” The driver straightened up and handed him the case. Grantaire was suddenly aware of how close he was standing to him, only the weapons case between them. He could feel the driver’s breath against his lips.

"Enjolras," the driver said.

"What?"

"That is my name, Enjolras. I have never mentioned it before."

"Right, that’s right," Grantaire felt a crawling sensation under his skin because Enjolras was very, very close and he wasn’t sure if he was okay with that or not. He had felt lust bubbling up ever since he’d first shook hands with him, on the way to kill an obscure politician. The driver—Enjolras—was so beautiful up close. His eyelashes brushed his cheeks when he blinked and his lips were red and parted. Grantaire stepped back. He had a job to do.

"Grantaire," Enjolras said and Grantaire turned away.

"Yes?"

"Won’t you reconsider?" Enjolras was frowning.

"Well it’s too late for me to stop now," Grantaire laughed. "Kill one person, kill two people, kill twenty. It’s all the same."

"But if I could give you the option?" Enjolras almost sounded like he was pleading. “A blank slate?”

"You shouldn't say stuff like that." Grantaire’s voice was flat. "Enough. Get back in the car and wait. You’re only my driver."

Enjolras shook his head. Grantaire hefted the weapons case over his shoulder and left.

~

Grantaire immediately knew something had gone horribly wrong. His ammo had been taken from the weapons case. It had been there when he checked his equipment on the drive over but now it was definitely missing. Without ammunition he’d have to confront the business directly and risk getting the murder traced back to him.  
He raised his head from where he was crouched on the floor and glanced back through the window into the businessman’s office. The man had a woman with him; a girl with blonde hair. She looked a lot like Enjolras (god knows why his brain always went back to him) and Grantaire wasn’t sure he wouldn’t regret killing a man in front of her. He’d never been good and empathising with other people, they seemed more like taking, breathing dolls to him, but the image of Enjolras staring at him, blood splattered over his white dress shirt, kept materialising behind his eyelids.

Between the missing ammo and the unexpected woman, he knew the mission was a failure. Dread settled into his stomach. The only person other than him who had touched the weapons case was Enjolras. Had he stolen it?

Behind Grantaire a floorboard creaked. He spun around. In the door way a burly man was approaching him, arms outstretched. Grantaire grabbed his knife on pure instinct but not before the man had grazed his temple with a right hook. It had almost missed but Grantaire was blinking back stars. He felt the man’s knee connect with his stomach and he dropped to the floor with a groan. He lifted his arm and stabbed his knife into the thick muscle on the man’s thigh. The man gave a high pitched wail of pain and stumbled back. Grantaire glanced behind and Enjolras appeared in the doorway, gun in hand.

Grantaire leapt to his feet only to be knocked backwards by a sudden searing pain in his arm. He fell to the floor as he heard the crack of a bullet passing through his bicep. He blinked at the ceiling in a daze of pain and shock. Enjolras had fired the gun. Enjolras had betrayed him. He tried to roll over but someone had their foot on his chest.  
“Don’t struggle or I will kill you,” said Enjolras. Grantaire looked up at him standing over him, gun levelled at his face. Enjolras’ eyes were cold and impassive. His mouth twisted into a smirk. A string of colourful curses exploded from the mouth of the man standing behind Enjolras.

“Stand back, Bahoral,” said Enjolras, his eyes locked with Grantaire’s.

“He stabbed me!” The man cried. “I have a knife sticking out of my leg.”

“You have an impressive grasp of the obvious,” said Grantaire through teeth gritted. Bahoral cursed and Enjolras’ eyes narrowed.

“Shut up and listen to me,” he hissed. “You have two options. One, I kill you right here.”

“Not feeling favourably towards that option,” said Grantaire. His arm was burning and he could already feel blood pooling on the floorboards beside him.

Enjolras pushed his heel down into Grantaire’s diaphragm and Grantaire gasped for breath. “Option two,” he continued. “You disappear. You come and work with me and my friends.”

“This is insane. What exactly would I be doing?”

Enjolras grinned. “This isn’t a negotiable offer.”

“You shot me through the arm. I hope you’re doing to give me some reimbursement and medical attention for that as part of your grand offer.”

“So that is a yes?” Enjolras lowered his gun but didn’t remove his weight from Grantaire’s body. Instead he replaced his foot with his body, straddling Grantaire’s hips.

“Is this the reimbursement?” asked Grantaire. He propped himself up on one arm.

“The medical attention,” said Enjolras. He took a medical kit from Bahoral and started wrapping up Grantaire’s bullet wound. It was a rushed job, just enough to stop the bleeding. He’d need proper attention soon.

“If you try anything at all,” warned Enjolras. “I will shoot you again.”

“I wouldn’t dare cross you,” Grantaire informed him.

“I hope not,” Enjolras leant forwards with a cotton pad and started cleaning the flecks of blood from Grantaire’s face. He let his fingers trail lightly over his cheeks. Grantaire’s breathing quickened. 

“Why are you making me this offer? Is it why you applied to be my driver in the first place?” Grantaire asked.

“No, I was doing some investigation,” his fingers brushed over Grantaire’s lips. “Finding you was an added bonus.”

“Well…”

Behind them Bahoral cleared his throat. “As great as that is, I still have a knife sticking out of my leg.”

Enjolras sat back, but not before brushing his lips over Grantaire’s.

“Not many people understand people like us,” he whispered. “But we don’t have to be who society says we are.”

“Cryptic,” Grantaire smirked, but his heart was pounding against his rib cage and his head was spinning, although that might have been from blood loss.  
Enjolras helped him to his feet and stroked a hand through his hair.

“You’re coming with us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for spelling mistakes! I hope you enjoyed this fic.
> 
> feel free to chat to me at scathiee.tumblr.com or send me prompts or just random facts idk


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